


Every Sun Doesn't Rise

by Wezenstyx



Series: He's Your Hero, Forever Your Son [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adopted Harley Keener, Adopted Peter Parker, Alternate Universe, Beware, Cause of course it is, Gen, His entire family is unintentionally clueless, I'm so sorry Peter, Inspired by owmtm by chumpi, Just kidding I do, Peter Parker Is Sad, Peter is my baby and I'm so sorry for hurting him, This low-key sucks but I don't care, a couple of naughty words, are they though?, i'll adjust accordingly, i'm pretty sure everyone is ooc, okay so minor character death, sorry riley, there might be a character death, title from DEH, uhhhh, yeah everyone is ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wezenstyx/pseuds/Wezenstyx
Summary: Peter knew that his parents never actively tried to ignore him. No, he knew that life got in the way sometimes, that his brother always struggled more than he did, he knew that there were people that needed to be handled and problems that needed to be solved.That didn’t make it hurt any less.





	1. We Start With Stars in Our Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [owimtm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348388) by [chumpi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chumpi/pseuds/chumpi). 



> Okay so. Hi. I haven't written one of these in a long time. Like a long long time. I read chumpi's story a while ago and just couldn't get this out of my head. I wrote it in like 45ish minutes so it might suck, but I wanted to get this chapter out. 
> 
> The titles for both the fic and the chapter are from Dear Evan Hansen, my first love. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter knew that his parents never actively tried to ignore him. No, he knew that life got in the way sometimes, that his brother always struggled more than he did, he knew that there were people that needed to be handled and problems that needed to be solved. 

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

In retrospect, it was probably his own fault. When it was just him and his parents, before Harley came along, it was easy for him to connect with them. They’d adopted him when he was still really young, barely old enough to remember his biological mom and dad. He grew up with them, they raised him, they fought with him, they helped him get ready for his first school dance back in seventh grade, they helped him study for (almost) every test, and complete every project, they saw him off on his first day of school, both trying (and failing) to conceal the tears that threatened to fall, they watched him stumble, they helped him get back on his feet, they loved him. He knew that.

He also knew that Harley wasn’t so lucky.

Harley remembered his mom, he watched her battle her illness, he watched her lose, he remembered his dad, the day that he left to go get scratchers and then never came back. Peter knew that Harley’d grown up with clothes that never fit, with the same threadbare coat barely keeping him warm during the winter year after year, that kids were bigger than him constantly pushed him around(not that Peter wasn’t pushed around too, but no one knew about that), that he always struggled in school, despite his intelligence.

Peter knew that Harley had already lost and suffered so much, so he didn’t have much ground on which to complain.

It all started the day that Harley moved in with them. Peter, being fourteen at the time, was bursting with excitement at the prospect of a brother, something he’d been begging his parents for for as long as he could remember. In the weeks preceding that day he’d often be caught daydreaming about late night Star Wars marathons that their parents would scold them about the next morning, intense and long Mario Kart tournaments, spending hours upon hours building Lego sets, geeking out over the fact that their parents were literal superheroes, and so much more.

Yeah. Needless to say that none of that happened, not even once.

When Harley walked through their front door on that fateful day, he entered with a frown on his face. It was understandable, considering everything, but it still through Peter off a little bit. He was expecting the boy that he’d seen in pictures, the one with shaggy brown hair, most likely cut using a bowl on the top of his head, that had sparkling eyes and a wide grin as he stood next to his mother. Instead, Harley’s eyes looked dull and empty, a mute brown that conveyed no emotion. His hair was cut short, likely by a professional this time, and looked to have had a hand constantly run through it. He was also older than Peter was expecting. It turns out that Harley was a year older than him, not younger as he had thought.

Tony and Pepper rushed to greet Harley, leaving Peter alone on the couch, simply staring with wide eyes at his new brother. They took his duffel bag from out of his hands and showed him to his room, all thoughts of introductions seemingly forgotten.

The rest of the day went about as Peter had expected. His parents were preoccupied with the newest addition to their family and he didn’t get much thought. He understood, he stayed out of their way, he tried not to be a nuisance. It worked, maybe a little too well. At dinner, Peter tried to start a conversation with his brother, but to no avail. Harley simply gave him an unenthused glance and continued eating his pasta.

Peter didn’t try to talk much after that.

Over the next few weeks and months, Peter discovered a new sense of normal. One that contained less of his parents, barely any of his brother, and a whole lot of his room. He’d wake up early in the morning, before the rest of his family, shower and throw some clothes on, grab a piece of fruit for breakfast, and walk to school. He’d meet up with Ned by Delmar’s and they’d geek out the rest of the way over the upcoming Star Wars film or next lego set they had to build.

Outside of his home, life was pretty good.

Sometime around the second week with Harley, Peter started to avoid everyone. He always ended up feeling like a fourth wheel. So he’d hide in his room, wake up earlier than he needed to, stay silent at family meals, he’d make himself invisible. As if he never existed. When his parents did occasionally try to talk to him he’d put on a mask he’d only just began to develop, tell them exactly what they wanted to hear, and make an excuse to leave again.

He couldn’t tell if they even cared or not.

Everything started to go to shit around the sixth month with Harley. Peter, with his perfect luck, somehow managed to get bitten by (what did they call it?) A fucking radioactive spider, while on a field trip his parents forgot about. He was a sophomore now, almost fifteen, dealing with all the trials and tribulations of being a teenager. He had a crush on a girl, a senior who was completely out of his league, perfect grades, and a homecoming dance that he had to worry about.

Harley, a junior, paid no attention to him, per the usual.

When Peter got sick after the bite his parents let him stay home, but didn’t care for him at all. They both still had work. He understood like he always did. He didn’t call when it got so bad that he felt like he was going to die. Like actually die. They would have called him over-dramatic and told him to just go back to sleep. He vomited, slept a little, cried from the excruciating pain, vomited a little more, sleep didn’t come again. His parents checked on him once in the three days that he was bedridden. Harley had a panic attack on the second night that he was sick, a new experience for everyone, so once again he became the top priority. By the third night, Peter was starting to feel better again. He simply asked that his dinner be sent up to his room. It was, by a bot. Peter was too tired to care.

No one seemed to notice when he stopped spending so much time at the house. Before Harley came around when Peter would stay over at Ned’s he’d call, asking if it was all right. It would be. But then his calls stopped getting answered and his voicemails never received.

He stopped calling.

He used to announce when he was going out, just so that everyone was aware. Harley made fun of him for it once, his parents stopped hearing him. He stopped that too.

It’s funny. Only a year ago, Peter actually talked to his parents. Had conversations with them on a daily basis, enjoyed being in their company. He used to waste days away with Tony in the lab, spend movie nights cuddled up next to Pepper, not caring about whether or not he was too old. Now he spent more nights at Ned’s house and the other Avengers’ than his own. He listened to the muffled AC/DC pouring out of his father’s lab as he and Harley worked. He tried to ignore the laughter echoing down the halls at a joke that he wasn’t a part of. Sure, Pepper would still smile at him when they passed in the hall and Tony would pat him on the shoulder as they walked past each other. But it was never like it was.

No one else knew that anything was off with Peter. FRIDAY noticed because she always did. (She told him that he was depressed, that he should make more of an effort to connect with people. Peter countered with the fact that people stopped making an effort with him. He knew it was a week argument. She hasn’t said anything since.) But none of the Avengers that he spent nights with on a daily basis knew that anything was wrong. Steve thought that Peter had just taken an extreme interest in American History. Natasha thought that he just wanted more training, to be able to protect himself. Bruce thought that he was just helping Peter with his complex honors chemistry homework, and maybe conducting a few experiments. Clint just appreciated Peter watching his kids, considering the fact that they genuinely enjoyed being around him. Whenever Peter was with them he wore the mask he’d perfected over time, the one that said everything the people around him wanted to hear and showed the emotions that they wanted to see.

Nothing more, nothing less. That was how Peter lived his life.

Until he held a girl as she died.


	2. You Just Don't Know Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn’t comment when he started missing dinner, when he started coming home in the early hours of the morning, when he walked around the house with remnant bruises on his face. 
> 
> He spent most of his time stopping petty criminals from trying to steal bikes and rob ATMs, helping anyone and everyone across the street, getting cats down from trees, giving people directions, performing acrobatics on a whim. 
> 
> He loved it. Every single moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back y'all. I'm so glad that people liked the story. I know it's a tad depressing. Well, now it's actually a lot depressing, but it's whatever. 
> 
> I forgot to say this on the last chapter, but I think it goes without saying that these characters don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them because I love them. The plot, while it has some of my own additions is also not entirely mine, it belongs to chumpi. Please go read their story, it's great.
> 
> Chapter title from Next to Normal  
> Enjoy!

Nothing more, nothing less. That was how Peter lived his life.

Until he held a girl as she died.

* * *

 She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. She had blonde hair that stuck out in every direction, blue eyes that held so much wonder and... and pain. Her clothes were ratty and her skin was caked with dirt. When Peter saw her, alone in the heart of Queens (he’d taken quite the liking to it since he stopped spending so much time at home), he couldn't _not_ help. It was against his moral code. The exact opposite of who he was. 

He approached her with some level of apprehension. While he knew that he needed to help her, he had absolutely no idea how. He didn't know if he needed to contact an adult of some sort, maybe call his parents (assuming that they would answer), or if he really just needed to talk to her. Considering his options, there was really only one thing he could do. Peter had no idea how effective it would be, but he had to try. Soon, he was within only a couple feet of her. 

He asked where her parents were.

She said she didn’t have any. She didn't seem afraid of Peter at all. It was strange. A girl this young had to be apprehensive of strangers-especially teenagers. Peter was at her age. 

He asked what her name was, how old she was. 

She said that it was Riley and that she was (she had to count on her fingers) six years old- almost seven.

He asked why she was alone.

She said it was because she was running away.

And, god, did Peter wish he could do the same. He knew he could leave without anyone noticing, that wasn't really the problem. He wanted to run from his problems, and if he'd learned anything from his dad it's that you can't. It's impossible to run from the pain of being alienated from his parents while they’re in the room ten feet down the hall, to escape the mask that constantly adorned his face, to never have to deal with the brother that never talked to him, that did nothing about Flash shoving Peter to floor, against lockers, calling him Penis. He wanted to leave it all behind never look back. But he couldn’t. The pain and suffering from all it would follow him like a puppy dog. It would haunt his dreams and stalk his days. Not only that but he could leave Ned or MJ or-

Peter felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He felt the tingling at the base of his spine warning him. He looked around frantically, searching for the apparent danger. He couldn’t find it.

Then he heard gunshots and Riley was on the ground next to him.

Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. Peter imagined that his face probably mirrored hers. Without thinking, Peter immediately fell on his knees next to her, his hoodie already halfway off. He didn’t care that it used to be Tony’s as he shoved it against Riley's stomach, trying desperately to stop some of the blood flow (Ultimately, he knew Tony wouldn’t care either. What's one hoodie when he was trying to save a life). His attempts were futile. The tiny girl was bleeding too much too fast. She wouldn't live much longer without medical attention. Riley tried to speak, to cry out, but no sound exited her mouth. Instead, in its place, blood dribbled down her chin.

Peter could see the light slowly leaving her eyes. The blueness off them starting to fade. He didn't think that it was possible for something like that to happen. Maybe he was just imagining it. He cried out for help, begged Riley to keep her eyes open, just stay awake a little longer. Peter met her gaze and he hated seeing the acceptance that had settled inside of it. The relief, almost. She knew she was going to die and she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she seemed to relish in it. 

Riley died in his arms at eight thirty-six. She was six years old, almost seven, and she didn't seem to have anyone that was going to miss her. Her parents were gone, out of her life, and those that were supposed to love her drove her to the point of running away. She had her whole life ahead of her and she would never get to live it. Peter vowed that he would never let that happen again. If it was in his power to stop someone from losing their life, even if it meant that he had to sacrifice his own, then he would do it. It wouldn't matter if the person was a man or woman, old or young, a Gandhi type or the most wicked person on the planet. No one truly deserved to die, not the way that Riley did. 

So he became Spider-Man.

 

And of course, no one in his family noticed.

At this point, he really shouldn’t be surprised.

They didn’t comment when he started missing dinner, when he started coming home in the early hours of the morning, when he walked around the house with remnant bruises on his face. (He did get yelled at, though when Tony found out he was taking tech from the labs, because _that_ his father notices.)

His suit was just a hoodie and sweatpants he bought at a thrift shop. Sure, he was more liable to get hurt, but that was a risk he was willing to take if it meant he could save someone’s life.

He spent most of his time stopping petty criminals from trying to steal bikes and rob ATMs, helping anyone and everyone across the street, getting cats down from trees, giving people directions, performing acrobatics on a whim.

He loved it. Every single moment.

He loved the lady who bought him a churro, the boy who gave him a picture that he drew, the dude that asked him to do a flip cause he was ‘that spider guy on youtube’(Oh, yeah, at one point he stopped a bus with his bare hands. Somehow it ended up on youtube.), each dog that wagged it's tail whenever it saw him swinging through the city.

For the first time in months, since Harley became a part of his family, Peter found himself enjoying something. Being passionate about something. Loving something. That is… until the Vulture guy showed up.

Peter honestly started to wonder if he would ever catch a break.

The Vulture was a maniac that tormented the city of New York by creating and dealing weapons. Normally, not a huge deal. People dealt weapons illegally all the time. The Vulture's were insane. Apparently, he'd gotten his hands on some alien tech from when the Chitiauri attacked the city eight some odd years ago and he used that to help superpower them. The weapons that he created were way beyond anything the world had previously seen and they made crimes way to easy. They were powerful and dangerous. Peter had to end whatever kind of operation they had going on.

He watched the dude for a while, following him around. He vandalized parts of suburbia as he tried to stop some guys from giving a full-on nuclear weapon to a petty criminal, he destroyed a storefront and intersection, he tried to crash a legitimate weapons deal,  _that didn’t work out so well._  (What could he say? He’s still a rookie at this superhero stuff). At some point, Ned found out about his arachnid-themed exploits and insisted he become his quote ‘guy in the chair.’ Peter couldn’t exactly say no, because well, at least one person cared about what he had going on.

They ended up following him to DC at a time that just so happened to coincide with the National Academic Decathlon. (Originally, Peter wasn't going to go, too concerned about leaving his beloved city behind for a few days. When they found out that the Vulture and his goonies were also headed there, he was easily persuaded to take the risk) Peter set off the night before, fully intent upon making it back in time to help his team become national champions. Instead, he ended up stuck inside one of his dad's own storage facilities. However, some good did come out of it. Peter got incredibly close with the AI he invented for himself, Karen (Knowledgeable Artificial Rendition of Einstein N.) (He couldn't come up with the N.), was able to test out some of his newer web settings and figured out that he could hack his father's security systems with a calculator. He still ended up missing the whole meet. 

It can’t be said that the trip wasn’t memorable, though. The Decathlon team still won, they vandalized (correction: blew up) a national landmark, almost died, Peter got a butt load of detention for bailing on the meet, you know, typical teenage antics. 

When he got home, with no progress made when it came to the Vulture dude, his family didn’t greet him. They didn’t ask if he was okay after his decathlon team was almost killed, as the destruction of the Washington Monument had been all over the news. They barely even glanced in his direction as he walked through the door. Apparently, Harley had a new boyfriend(another one) who his parents were incredibly interested in. So incredibly invested in, that Peter's presence was completely brushed aside. He didn't understand anymore, he really didn't. And the sad truth was that he'd become used to it. This was his normal.

With the most dramatic sigh he could muster in a measly attempt to get people to notice him (it didn't work), Peter made his way up to his room. He was greeted by a monotone AI, who to her credit, had the slightest bit of fondness in her tone. He sat on his perfectly made bed adorned with Iron Man sheets that he begged for when he was ten (They were the only clean ones left). It was a crazy thought that this wasn't always his life. That Harley wasn't always the favored child, that his parents couldn't be bothered to welcome him home. At one point in time, Harley wasn't even in the picture, Peter begged his parents for sheets with his Dad's face on them, he physically couldn't survive being away from his mom for more than a night or two. At a point in his life, Peter was a part of a family. 

With that final thought, sleep came easier to Peter than it had in a year. 

* * *

 He woke up around six twenty. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was a mess, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was too distracted by the gnawing hunger at the pit of his stomach. He hadn't eaten since the early breakfast he'd had that morning. Despite the intense desire to just stay in his room, to avoid all problems that resided on the other side of the door, Peter hefted himself off of his bed and trailed down the stairs to the kitchen. Odds are the rest of his family had already eaten, so he would end up just taking leftovers back to his room. 

Yeah... There were no leftovers.

He checked the fridge, the pantry, the table, everywhere where there might be food and there was none. Nada. Zilch. In fact, there weren't any people anywhere in the house. 

Peter reached into the fridge, grabbed the first thing he put his hand on, an apple, and went to the living room where he plopped himself down on the couch to watch _The Empire Strikes Back_ alone. The apple wasn't enough, but he was too exhausted to go back to the kitchen to get something else. He considered inviting Ned over or calling him at least, but the typical energy level that would be required in order to keep his friend convinced that he was all right, was something that Peter didn't currently possess. Instead, he wallowed in self-pity and hoped that someone-anyone, would reach out to him first. Save him the trouble. 

His family arrived home long after the movie had run its course. Peter was half asleep on the couch when they walked through the front door. Pepper made her way into the house first, the biggest grin on her face as she laughed at yet another joke that Harley had just told (Peter heard the whole thing, it wasn’t that funny), then Harley, then Tony. Peter sat up in some form of unspoken greeting. 

“Pete," His father said. Despite the affectionate nickname, there was a stiffness in his voice. As if Tony, the man who raised him, didn't know how to act around him anymore. “When did you get home?”

“A couple of hours ago,” Peter answered simply. The mask fell across his face, so familiar now that it felt like it never left. Peter's voice was soft, quiet as if underneath his pleasant and understanding demeanor, he didn't hold so much pain, anger. So much raw emotion that was only held back by the strongest of wills. Holding it back was exhausting. God. He was so exhausted. "Like, I don't know, maybe around eleven this morning. DC isn't that far away."

The look of confusion that crossed both of his parents' faces was incredibly depressing. They'd forgotten he'd went to DC. They didn't even realize he'd left. They never did anymore. "We won," Peter whispered meekly.  _Well, I didn't. My team did. I was too busy chasing a criminal._

"Oh. Well. Congratulations," Pepper murmured. Her voice was stiff too, uncomfortable. The woman standing in front of him wasn't the one that walked in the door only a couple of seconds ago. She wasn't Peter's mother. His mom would have practically thrown a party in celebration of his team becoming national champions. She would have peppered him with kisses far longer than necessary. She would have hugged him. Said something more than _congratulations_. 

“Well then, honey, you must be exhausted. Such a busy couple of days and all. ” she said, “you should go get some sleep.” Peter tried not to take to heart the fact that she'd told him to get out in so many words. Ushered him away from whatever activity they were planning on doing next. He didn't want to accept the fact that they'd finally stopped wanting him around. He wasn't distancing himself by his choice anymore. It was now a whole group decision. 

“Yeah." There was an uncomfortable silence. "I think all do that,” he relented.   _I recommend you turn on the news. Any station. I'm on it today._ _Just in case you wanted to know._ Peter went back to his room. The others didn’t go to theirs.

That night, as Peter laid in his bed staring at the ceiling laden with glow in the dark stars (one of the abundant reminders of his forgotten childhood), he made a decision. He knew it wasn’t a good one, he knew that it would create rifts that likely couldn't be mended. But enough was enough. He couldn't deal with this anymore. 

He left the house the next morning with no intention of returning. Not for a long while. He planned to crash at various homes until it became suspicious and then he would… Well, to be honest, he didn’t know. He had to be out of that house for a while. He had to deal with the Vulture and then he could focus on his parents. He’d written a note- one that he doubted they would find. And went on his not so merry way

* * *

 

He’s not quite sure how he did it, but he managed to ask Liz to Homecoming. Liz Allen, the girl of his dreams. The one he practically stalked his entire sophomore year.  And she said yes. To his complete and utter amazement, she said yes.

With the shock of Liz accepting his homecoming proposal, he realized that he would have to return home to actually be presentable. He needed a suit and a tie and a corset, and all the things you give a girl for a dance. He didn’t have that on the run. His teenage rebellion would have to wait.

He had no help getting ready the night of the dance. The other Avengers were there. Apparently, they had this big meeting, Peter knew nothing about it. Harley, clad in the suit Tony’d bought him, was the subject of constant photos. Peter was up in his room watching a youtube video on how to tie a tie. He wore a suit that was slightly too small for him because he hadn’t gone shopping in quite a few months. His tie was a complete mess, but he had no way of fixing it. It was a lost cause. He’d bought everything he needed on his way home from school.

He was in a good mood when he knocked on Liz’s door that night. The eustress that he was feeling hadn't been there since Harley’d arrived. That all went out the door when Liz’s father opened out the door.

The fucking Vulture dude. Because of course. Peter absolutely just couldn’t catch a break.

When he left Liz behind that night, he could see Harley watching him out of the corner of his peripheral. There was a confused look on his face, but it held no concern from his obviously distraught brother. In a stroke of boldness, Peter met Harley’s eye. His face was hard, his mind was set. There was no turning back now.

* * *

 

 Their fight did not go Peter’s way. He had a few small victories, but nothing too amazing or tide turning. At some point, Peter didn’t know when, they’d ended up on the beach. There was fire illuminating the surrounding area with a sick orange glow. The flames bounced and danced, tormenting and teasing Peter as he once again was knocked to the ground by a metal claw. Toomes had a smile on his face that no father should be able to possess.

Everything hurt. Everything. Even body parts that Peter didn’t know he had hurt. His throat burned from the smoke and screaming. His lungs screamed in agony every time he tried to breathe. He could barely see out of one of his eyes. His suit was torn and bloody, caked with sand and dirt. He was helpless as he watched the Vulture attempt to fly with his broken wing, a box of Stark Tech firmly in his grasp.

The hair on the back of Peter’s neck stood up, there was a tingling at the bottom of his spine. He saw a spark fly out from the Vulture's mechanical wings.

“Your wingsuit… your wingsuit’s going to explode!” He cried, stumbling his way through the debris. His legs protested the movement with everything they could. Peter continued to walk anyway.

Toomes didn’t care. He continued his broken accent away from the screeching teen. “It’s time to go home, Pete!” He shouted back.

“I’m trying to save you!” Peter shot one last web in an attempt to bring the man back down to earth. The Vulture cut it effortlessly, ignoring the boy’s pleas.

Then, all of the sudden, Toomes was falling, like Icarus back down towards the earth in a fiery heap. His wings were broken, not melted perse, but beyond repair. Peter didn’t think twice about running into the flames to pull the man out. His body didn’t want to cooperate, instead opting to force the teen to bask in excruciating pain. Peter powered through it. He got Toomes out, he saved the man who tried to kill him.

They both ended up collapsed on the ground. Peter just wanted to succumb to his body’s wishes and to fall asleep. Toomes’ breaths were labored and sporadic. Distantly Peter heard sirens. He knew that he had to get off the beach, away from where people could discover his identity. With the last remaining bit of adrenaline coursing through his system, Peter managed to web up Toomes and leave perhaps the last of his trademark notes.

He then swung his way back to a house where he was sure no one was waiting for him.

 

When he neared his home, he saw that all of the lights were still on. He had no idea how much time had passed. It could've been hours, it could have been mere minutes. Peter didn't care. Harley had likely just gotten home and was retailing the night's events to the eager waiting party. Peter could only imagine how wonderfully his night had gone. He wondered if his parents even knew that he had gone to the dance.

They probably didn’t. Harley likely didn’t even mention that he’d left early. 

Peter was becoming less coordinated. Less focused. It was getting harder to see, hear, think, breathe. Exist. Live. Everything was collapsing on him all at once. _Riley_ -no matter how many people he saved, he could never bring her back _. His parents_ \- no matter how much he wished for it all to go back to the way it was, he knew it would never be the same. They would never be the same. _Harley_ \- he would never be his brother, no matter how much Peter desired it, willed it to be true, Harley would never want anything to do with him. The people around him, the world, always expected him to be the best. The best superhero, brother, student, child, boyfriend, whatever, it was expected of him. He expected it of himself. He was a Stark, he was supposed to be the strongest of men.  Peter could never be the best, he wasn't strong. He was just a scared kid. One that desperately needed his parents. 

He ended up crashing through one of the front windows. He didn’t mean to, but he was feeling light-headed and sick and all that Peter really wanted to do was sleep. He didn't think he would make it if he went through the door.

For the first time in months, Peter seemingly had everyone’s attention. “Hey, guys,” he managed to rasp out. His voice was scratchy and pained. “I might be dying a little bit over here. Not entirely sure.”

With only one working eye, Peter couldn’t see the sheer number of worried looks being sent his way. Hell, he couldn’t even see his parents. The Avengers were there. That much he could see.

“I’ve almost died a couple of times actually. Today's just the most recent.” He could feel the blood on his hands, feet, arms, everywhere. It was seeping through his clothing, staining the floor beneath him He made a half-assed attempt at blocking some of the blood flow from where the Vulture stabbed him in the shoulder. Nothing was really working at the moment. Blood continued to force itself through his fingers, present itself to the world. Everything was becoming darker. 

“In case you cared.”

And then Peter was on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. I've officially added a third chapter. It should be the last, but I'm unpredictable. I think that you all will like what I have in the works for chapter 3. And those who were going to hate me for ending on a cliff hanger, you don't anymore. Checkmate. (Hint hint: Major guilt) Thank you to everyone who commented and left kutos, you all are the literal best. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! (Sorry for making Peter sad and in pain)


	3. How Am I To Face Tomorrow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And, I hope you know, Pete, that Iron Man isn’t the best part of me. He never was. You were. Are. You are. You’ve always been the absolute best part of me. You’re everything I never was, and then some. I’m so proud of you, Peter. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet again, y'all. Can I just say that writer's block sucks? Some people started asking me when I was going to update again, and I swear, I wasn't holding out on you. My brain just decided to stop doing its job. Thanks, brain. 
> 
> Chapter title from Falsettos
> 
> (In case you hadn't put it together yet, I really love musicals. Like REALLY love them. To an unhealthy extent)
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

_Mom and Dad,_

_Hi. It’s me. Peter. Your son. You know that I guess. Or did you? ( Jesus, that was extremely passive aggressive.) I’m guessing, if you’ve found this, that I’ve either completed my goal of being absent long enough for you to notice or something has gone terribly wrong. Knowing me, and you honestly, my bets are on the latter option. My perfect luck, as I have grown to call it. That or my extreme stupidity. Take your pick._

_If that’s wrong, though, and you genuinely noticed my lack of presence in the house, well than…. Finally, I guess. Took you long enough._

_I don’t know if you guys have seen just how much has changed in the time that Harley has been a part of our family. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I wish he wasn’t here. Regardless of our current relationship (if that’s even what you want to call us not talking, barely acknowledging each other's existence), I don’t want him gone. He’s still technically my brother. I understand that everything he’s gone through and that he needs you. But I think along the way of caring for him, making him feel at home, you guys forgot that I needed you too._

_I needed your help when I got bitten. When I was sick, I needed you there to tell me that I was going to survive, that I was going to get better. I needed you after I held a dying (then dead) girl in my arms, shot because I wasn’t quick enough to save her. I needed your guidance after I became who I am now, a superhero. Spider-Man. I needed your help with tests and projects. I needed your advice about how to talk to a girl that I liked._ (There’s writing in the margins, looking to be scribbled in as an afterthought) _I needed you to help me tie my tie tonight._

_But at some point, you stopped being there. Work became too important to miss. Brothers became a higher priority. At first I understood. I understood for such a long time. Harley has suffered more than I have. He spent his entire life in a hell hole while I grew up in a penthouse. His parents left him, mine were always by my side. I got it. I made excuses for you, convincing myself that it was only temporary, that at some point, after you all were satisfied with how everyone felt, you would come back to me._

_You never did._

_No, instead, I stayed in the background. Harley’s shadow became my permanent place of residence. I heard as he shared every victory with you, every A, every boyfriend,_ everything _. Meanwhile, I remained at the top of my class. The Academic Decathlon team became national champions.  I’ve invented countless things in the loneliness of my bedroom. (An AI, for starters. Her name is Karen) I became a goddamn superhero. I could’ve told you…but you never asked._

_You stopped hearing me at some point so I stopped talking, calling. You stopped seeing me so I stopped being around to be seen. (I spent night after night at various houses, mostly Ned’s, but never long enough for anybody to actually get suspicious.) I want to believe that you never stopped caring, but even now, as I find myself with no other options except what I’m about to do, I can’t help but wonder if you stopped doing that too._

_Both FRIDAY and Karen have told me that I’m depressed. Moderately, whatever that means. They were the only ones who noticed. I don’t blame any of you. I blame myself mostly. (They told me that that was my anxiety)._

_I haven’t slept an entire night through in a while. Riley, the girl who died in my arms, her eyes haunt me every time I close my own. I see the look of relief that had no place in the gaze of a six-year-old. She shouldn’t have been ready for death. It should have been me. I should have saved her._

_God, I’m so tired of understanding. Of sitting back and allowing myself to drift further and further away. I know that doing this is just going to make it worse, but I’m going to let you in on a little secret. When you’re alone, completely and utterly alone, you start losing fucks to give. You lose them in an attempt to rationalize your situation. And it appears, after a year of this shit, I’ve lost all of mine._

_I think it’s kind of funny, actually, that had our family not had the major change of a whole new member, I would be wishing for exactly what I’m going through right now. Not to this extent, necessarily, but I would want space, to be left alone while I brooded in my room. I wouldn’t want to tell you everywhere that I was going or want to talk to you about school or girls. But alas, here I am, with dreams that are just right out of my reach._

_Now, in an effort of actual communication, I’m going to tell you what I left to do. I have to find the flying vulture guy. I need to stop him from doing whatever he’s doing. I know you know nothing about him, but he’s dangerous. Really dangerous. I’d say don’t try to stop me, but clearly, it’s a little too late._

_If something has gone horribly wrong, though, please know that I don’t blame you for anything. You’re my family. I love you. That, I don’t think, will ever stop. You couldn’t have prevented me from being Spider-Man. He’s a part of who I am. He is the best part of me. Just as Iron Man is the best part of you, Dad. If I die, though, please don’t tell people who I am (or was, I suppose). I wasn’t a hero for recognition or fame. I only wanted to help the little guy, stay close to the ground. To the people of Queens, I’m just their “Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man” and I want it to stay that way._

_I’m sorry for everything. That I did and that I didn’t do. That I’m doing right now._ _You guys don’t really deserve any of it._

_(Maybe you deserve a little)_

_Your Son,_

_Peter_

* * *

Nothing in Peter’s room had changed. The bed still resided parallel to the door, adorned with the most adult Star Wars comforter they could find. (Peter was still Peter, even if he wanted to grow up a little) Upon closer inspection, it can be seen that underneath the aforementioned comforter, there were sheets decorated with little Iron Man helmets (That broke Tony’s heart just a little bit more). Dirty clothes littered the floor, most of them were shirts with stupid science quips printed on them. Clean clothes spewed out of the open drawers of Peter’s dresser, looking as though they’d been shoved aside in a frantic search for god knows what. Shelves lined the walls, action figures and Lego sets resting atop them. They ranged from simple sets built when Peter was no older than five, to the five thousand piece Millennium Falcon they bought for him on his fourteenth birthday.

Everything about it was all so _Peter._

Which, considering the fact that Tony was in Peter’s room, made sense. What didn’t make sense, though, at least in Tony’s mind, was that he felt like he was intruding. He felt like a stranger in what was technically his own home.

Tony had found the letter resting innocently in the center of Peter’s desk. (It looked as if he’d tried to clean it off, but by Peter standards that meant shoving all of the spare wires and metal pieces to the sides.)The paper was pristine, the handwriting practically perfect, and the words within were utterly heartbreaking. It was official. Tony was now the worst father in the entire fucking universe. How on earth did he let this happen?

Peter was his son, his little boy, his _baby_ and Tony left him to fend for himself for a year. A whole fucking year. Jesus Christ.

The worst part was that Tony felt Peter slipping away. He did notice, right after Harley moved in, that Peter stopped hanging around in the lab, asking for help with homework, stopped talking in general, started spent an unhealthy amount of time in his room. It was strange, seeing such an energetic and genuinely happy boy becoming a shadow of his former self.

 _“It’s just a phase,”_ Pepper had said.

 _“He’ll grow out of it,”_ Tony told himself.

But he didn’t and his absence became normal. Tony stopped expecting Peter at dinner, stopped thinking to invite him to come down to the lab, to participate in movie nights with them. Peter would humor his less and less frequent attempts at conversation and than make an excuse to leave and Tony wouldn’t think twice about it. Tony didn’t remember it hurting at all, just...God, he didn't know.

Harley however, was the exact opposite. He was always willing to share everything with Tony and Pepper. It made dealing with Peter’s distancing a little easier. It was almost as if nothing had changed.

Tony heard the letter crinkling in his hands, twisting to match the shape of his curled fist as he tensed. He felt the tears falling unabashedly from his eyes, streaking down his neck and soaking into his shirt collar. The room was shrinking around him. The photos that littered every available space were taunting him, forcing him to face the child that Peter once was and will likely never be again.

In the time that Peter was on his own, he witnessed a world Tony so desperately tried to protect him from. He held a girl in his arms as she died, watched criminal after criminal day after day go after innocent people, extorting them and using them for personal gain. And Tony knew that at some point, Peter would see it all, it was just a fact of life that kids would have to grow up. But Peter didn’t deserve to do it so soon and he didn’t deserve to deal with it on his own, as Tony had.

God, he was no better than his father. Tony was indifferent to his child’s success, his interests, his friends, his hobbies. He left him alone to fend for himself in a world that only ever will hurt him. Tony ended up becoming exactly what he’d spent so much time and effort trying to avoid. He’d failed. Wholly and completely failed.

So, he cried. With Peter’s letter and baby blanket held tight to his chest, he sobbed.

* * *

 

In Peter’s hospital room that night, comforted only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and various other machines, Tony felt the urge to speak to the boy’s sleeping form. He knew that when unconscious people might still be able to hear. So maybe, wherever the teen's mind was at the moment (if he was even thinking), his words might be a comfort.

Peter was still his son, after all, even if Tony didn’t deserve to be his father anymore.

“Petey,” He whispered. “Buddy, I’m…” He trailed off. “Sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry. And I know that sorry doesn’t cut it, it never will, but I just don’t know what else to say. And I guess that makes me a horrible father, right?

“Actually, I guess ignoring you for a year does. This is just the cherry on top.

“Peter, I-I never meant for this to happen. Your mom and I, we… we thought it was a phase, your wanting to be alone. We thought that you’d grow out of it. And I know that this is more our fault than it is yours. Scratch that. This is entirely our fault, but please, know that we never wanted it to go this far, for it to end up here. We never wanted to lose you.

“We thought we were being good parents, by you know,  giving you your space. We didn’t want to pry, we didn’t want to force you to do anything. We just wanted you to be happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. An- And we just let it get so out of hand. I felt you slipping away and I just sat idly by, telling myself that you’d get yourself out. You could handle yourself. I know you can, bud, but you shouldn’t have to. No one should have to.”

Tony went quiet, his mind, which previously had been ridden with guilty thoughts and endless ‘what ifs’, had finally slowed its roll. Calmed just long enough for him to get his thoughts in order.

It was amazing how loud silence could be. Deafening.

It also lasted forever. Tony let it stretch on, lost in watching his son’s chest rise and fall, the constant reminder that he was still alive. Still holding on with everything he had.

“And, I hope you know, Pete, that Iron Man isn’t the best part of me. He never was…  You were. _Are. You are. You’ve always been the absolute best part of me._ You’re everything I never was, and then some. I’m so proud of you, Peter. God… I’m so sorry. Please, just wake up so I can tell you that face to face.”

Tony was crying again, his hand held onto Peter’s like a lifeline. As if Tony was the one near death and not the teen on the bed next to him. He stayed there all night, not bothered by the crook in his neck he would feel the next morning or the ache in his back.

Time passed, like it always did. Constant. From Tony’s perspective, it felt like it was trudging along at a snail’s pace. Meandering its way down the never-ending path that was supposed to tell the distraught family something. Anything.

Only time would tell, right? That’s what everybody said.

If only it could speak faster. 

* * *

A few floors above them, Pepper was moving quietly into a darkened room. Moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the tense face of a teenage boy. He was asleep, limbs twitching every so often, facial expressions twisting in a variety of different emotions. Fear was the most present, causing Harley to appear much older than he was.

Pepper sat at the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. She hadn’t changed clothes in a day or so, refusing to leave Peter’s bedside, vigil as she watched every rise and fall of the heart monitor, listened to every beep that signified he was still alive. She was in desperate need of a shower, but she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

Harley woke slowly. He first glanced around in confusion, trying to figure out why he was awake when it was clearly the middle of the night.

Pepper spoke softly, “Harley, baby, wake up.”

“Pepper? Why aren’t you with Peter?” In his half-asleep state, he couldn’t think to try and hide the worry in his voice. At this point, it seemed that wherever Harley went, pain seemed to follow him and inflict itself on the people closest to him. First him, then his mother, and now his brother.

He wasn’t ready for someone else to leave him again, even if it was the ‘brother’ he never talked to. (Not that it was Peter’s fault, Harley was completely willing to take full blame on this one) It was all too much too soon.

“Tony’s with him. He’s fine. I wanted to check on you, though. Make sure you were doing all right with everything.” Pepper was very clearly tired, but her maternal worry always seemed to make itself more of a priority.

“Um… Yeah, I’m good-I think, “ Harley sputtered out. “Just worried about him, you know?”

“ Yeah. I know.” Their tones were equally quiet, portraying the least amount of emotion they could, in hopes of being strong for the other.

“Part of me still can’t believe he became a superhero,” Harley whispered. “It’s simultaneously the stupidest and most amazing thing.”

“He’s always been remarkable, ever since he was tiny.” There was a pause. It wasn’t uncomfortable or unpleasant. Harley could practically see the reminiscence flashing across his adoptive mother’s face. Her lips quirked up ever so slightly.  Her eyes sparkled. The love she felt for her children and the time that she was able to spend with them was evident on her face.

Harley sighed. “I hated him, you know,” he mumbled sheepishly. “When I first met Tony, back in twenty-thirteen, he was entirely focused on getting back to you and Peter. Which makes perfect sense, considering everything. But… my dad was never like that, he didn’t give a shit about my mom and me.” Pepper’s gaze sharpened in an unspoken scolding. “Sorry. He didn’t give a _crap_ about my mother and I.  And, I guess I hated Peter for having what I always wanted. Two incredibly amazing, present parents, who so clearly loved him with their entire beings. Even then, I knew didn’t make any sense, but I was eleven and I guess I just wanted someone to blame, and this kid I’d never even met seemed to do the trick.”

Another pause.

“I suppose,” Harley continued sadly, “that it carried over into actually meeting him. Tony had described him as this perfect child and I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to live up to that. I thought that I was always going to have to play second-fiddle to him. So, I decided that the best course of action was to ignore him completely. It’s easy to hate someone when you don’t know them at all.”

Pepper stared at her son softly. In an effort to comfort him, she rubbed her hand up and down his shin, still covered by sheets. Harley sighed again, it was a poor attempt at masking the emotion that had worked its way into his voice and face.

“But now, wha- what if he doesn’t make it? What if I never actually get to know him because I was a self-pitying brat? What if he dies thinking that I don’t give a living shit about him?”

“Harley, I’m sure he know-” Pepper tried to console him, but Harley cut her off.

“No, he doesn’t. I’m not sure if you read that letter he left, but he didn’t even know if you guys gave a damn anymore. The people who raised him. His _parents._ If that’s the case, how is he gonna know that the quote-en-quote brother who forced his way into a family he wasn’t apart of, cared about him?”

Harley’s voice was thick with regret and guilt. Neither really knew what to say. Pepper opened her mouth a couple of times to speak but would think better of it at the last minute and close it again.

“Do you know how many words I’ve said to him in the year that I’ve been here?” Harley asked timidly. “Eleven. Maybe twelve. Trust me, he thinks that I couldn’t care less about him.”

Pepper stood up suddenly, walking swiftly from her place at the foot of the bed to the side. She sat down and silently enveloped Harley in her arms. He leaned into her grasp, reveling in the domesticity of it. “He’s not going to die,” She whispered. “He’s too strong. You’ll be able to tell him everything.” Harley nodded, trying to ignore the wetness in his eyes.

There was nothing certain about their situation. Nothing at all. Peter still hung in the balance, in that gray area between life and death. There were going to be relationships that would need to be mended and actions needed to be explained. But for that small amount of time, in their tiny little bubble, they were content to believe that there was, certainly, that is. They were pretending that Harley didn’t have a million regrets and that Tony and Pepper hadn’t virtually lost a son. That Peter wasn't lying in a hospital bed flitting on the outskirts of death. 

* * *

Peter would wake a few days later, in the early hours of the morning. The first thing he would notice would be the pain, spreading quickly throughout every inch of his body as he slowly came to. Then he would hear the beeping of too many machines trying to keep him alive. Then he would see the people surrounding him. 

His father slept with his head resting in his palm. His suit would be rumpled, missing a tie and a jacket. There would be dark bags under his eyes, a tell-tale sign that this was likely the first time he'd slept in a while. He would be right next to Peter's bedside, the hand not supporting his head loosely gripping Peter's. 

His mother would be on his opposite side and in no better a state. Her strawberry blonde hair would be completely unkempt, likely not brushed in a day or two. She'd be dressed in loose pajamas. She'd be asleep with her head resting on her arms, her form tense, protective. 

At the foot of the bed would be his brother, Harley, spread out across two chairs haphazardly pushed together. He'd be snoring slightly and would occasionally mutter a word or two. Every so often, he would switch positions, never quite comfortable, but completely unwilling to leave. 

The sight would be jarring at first, but it'd easy for Peter to grow comfortable with it. Easy for him to get used to his family surrounding him on all sides, protecting him from whatever resided outside his room. 

So, no, nothing was certain, but tomorrow would come, the sun would rise, and they'd have to face it all.

But they'd face it all together. 

Perhaps that was the most important thing to remember. 

Yes, they'd lost each other and the distance between them seemed impossible to cross. 

Yes, they were broken.

But they would mend and overcome it all together. 

And as new sunlight started streaming through each window, this seemed like a pretty good start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The support I've gotten for this story has been overwhelming. Seriously. Thank you guys so much.
> 
> This is my first time posting on this platform and I honestly had no idea how supportive and amazing you all could be. I've read every one of your comments, considered and tried to work in all of your ideas. They've all been incredible. 
> 
> Now, I wanted to clear some things up. 
> 
> 1\. I really tried to stay accurate to Peter's character for this story, or at least how I perceived it. I honestly think that even after everything he went through, he'd still be fairly forgiving of his parents. He's just that good of a person. Yes, they're going to have a lot to work out and adjust to, but I think that they all are going to desperately want to fix everything. 
> 
> And don't get me wrong, I'm not forgiving of his parents. I think we all want them to pay in some shape or form, but I honestly think they have. Not only do they have to live with the guilt of having ignored Peter for the last year, but they also missed a whole damn lot. A whole year of their son's life that they're never getting back. Their relationship with him will never be the same. From a parent's point of view, I'm sure that hurts a whole lot. 
> 
> 2\. The Avengers maintained the same relationships they always had with Peter. These people are Peter's family and they care about him immensely. Since they didn't know Harley as well and weren't quite as invested in him, their relationship with Peter was never affected.
> 
> I hope that long and unnecessary explanation of my head cannons helped somewhat. I'm literally writing this before the chapter is even done. 
> 
> I also have a portion of this chapter that I cut that's from Harley's perspective. I decided to forego it because it ended up just recapping the entire beginning of the story and didn't really get into how I thought he'd feel after Peter almost died. If you'd like me to post it as like an extra bit, just say the word. 
> 
> I'm going to be incredibly cliche in about a half a second.
> 
> I love you all 3000. ;D

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap everyone is incredibly OOC. Sadly this kind of story doesn't really work otherwise. I feel awful (kinda) because I love them all. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


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